


The Psychology of Want

by thisisashittyusername



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Father-Son Relationship, Father/Son Incest, Incest, M/M, Parent/Child Incest, god give me the strength to stop writing incest fanfiction please
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-12
Updated: 2019-10-12
Packaged: 2020-12-13 17:49:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21001709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisisashittyusername/pseuds/thisisashittyusername
Summary: "No harm will ever come to my son," he thinks, and already in his mind, he cradles the boy.





	The Psychology of Want

He thinks of the first time his father laid his hands on him.

They were disgusting and cruel, too harsh in their strikes, with no consideration at all to the bruising of his skin.

The skin- _epithelium, _Martin thinks, just to anchor himself in the present- gave way for the blood to flow (_epithelium was avascular, it had to be removed to see any blood)_. The swollen flesh would redden at first- _erythema, in which a cold compress would be beneficial, at least to reduce its appearance for when his mother sees him._ But he was rarely so lucky to have the beatings stopped at that point.

A few years into it all, he will learn to withdraw into himself; seek out a place inside of him, devoid of emotions, devoid of pain and pleasure. But for now, he _feels everything_. He feels the fists that would continue to rain down upon him, _merciless_, all the wrath of an unforgiving god, and he would scream, and wail, and scream again, for the help that never came. It would go on and on, long after, until the bruising would turn darker, and darker, and darker still (_indicative of hematoma, an internal bleeding just beneath his skin_)_. _

“He just loves you, darling,” his mother tells him, when he confides to her one day.

She worries about his busted lips, and his tender cheeks, but she never bothers to ask _where _and _what_.

When he breaks a fellow student’s nose, screaming all wild and feral, “_You keep your hands to yourself!_”, all they have to say in the year 1975 is the classic adage, “Boys will be boys”.

No one bothers to ask _who_, Martin, _whose hands don’t you want touching you?_

(“Please, stop,” he had begged, weeping, snot bubbling in his nose, a metallic taste against his tongue.

“You’re _my son_, you filthy shit,” his father had slurred, and how Martin wished he would just topple over because of his drunkenness, fall and crash his skull- _his frontal bone, his zygomatic bone, his mandible, **anything**-_ against the cement, and _die_.

_'Please let him die, let me escape this hell,' _he thought, he _prayed_, and even God did not listen.

The hand on his collar had tightened instead. "You're _my_ son," the voice repeated, “And I will _do_ to you as I damn well _please_!”)

He learns to care for his body. He learns to sew what needs to be closed and wrap what needs to be hidden. He becomes used to it, his hands turning quicker and more efficient for every passing year; it becomes a non-committal hobby to him, and even later, a genuine interest. The dullness and disgust he’s always felt in school- “_your second home,” _a banner proudly says, to which he scowls- becomes almost a giddy joy when he finally takes the biology course.

His teachers are shocked, at first, by how well he does (and if he was being honest, so was he). The problematic, deplorable juvenile he was known to be showed promise, after all. Instead of taunting him, however, like he thought they would, they actually encourage his newfound talent: they recommend books, develop conversations with him in their free time, and give him points for improvement. (The last is what irks him the most; he doesn’t need to be reminded of what he’s constantly lacking. He _knows_.)

The teachers’ pet project is a success. He _thrives. _And he only gets better from there.

It is the day young Martin Whitly finally, _genuinely_ believes, that he can be worth something.

_Something so much more._


End file.
